You
by MollyDawes
Summary: She likes to be alone, but she likes his company best of all.
1. Chapter 1

Trembling, I clung to your hand with mine, I felt yours tremble too. I looked up at your face and it was stern and cold, your eyes fixed, looking out at something in the distance. We walked close to one another towards the platform, my step quickening to reach the speed of your stride. I listened to you breathe, trying to control the rate I took the odd breathe. It was steady and calm. Too calm. I held onto you tighter, you didn't shake me off like I'd expected you to, you didn't glance down at me with your reassuring smile, I don't think you knew quite what to do.

A whistle blew. Sharp, cutting through the silence like a gunshot and stealing you away. You turned and pulled away from my embrace. The expression of your face had changed; you seemed terrified. Your dark eyes glazed with unshed tears. The very same eyes that stared back at me on our wedding day, only then they were full of joy and now full of fear. Placing my forearms on your chest, trying to blink away the tears welling in my eyes, I flattened your collar and readjusted the badges pinned upon your blazer. I noticed the curves that grazed your winter bitten lips and the creases that had newly appeared under your dark, captivating eyes. Your big hands cupped my jaw as you pulled me close to you one last time. You wiped my eyes and kissed my hands that you'd now held in yours. Then, in one moment you'd vanished. You'd left me, a shiver running down the length of my spine.

You know I like reading alone; and sipping a cup of tea by myself; and walking alone to the bakery; and playing the piano alone; and being home alone. But when I see a mother with her child... or friends laughing… or a couple holding hands, I realise that even though I like being alone... I don't want to be lonely. I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to go, to take off and not see you until god knows when. And in that moment, I felt truly lonely. On that platform surrounded by a hundred other girls waving to their fiancées, husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, cousins, best friends. I never felt as cold as I did, stood watching the steam train depart, my eyes locked with yours until I couldn't make out your silhouette anymore.

The last Friday of each month I'd collect the letters they'd forward to me and I'd wrap them in a red ribbon. They'd sit by the coffee pot, catching gentle streams of sunlight as I stared at them. I couldn't bring myself to open them, I forged false memories of you drinking and smoking and laughing and kicking about a ball with your friends and flirting with German waitresses and following orders and sleeping under the stars. Quite frankly, the memories I'd forged were ones we'd imagined before you left. Your hand ghosted over my brown bump. I knew that they brown paper meant that they were from you, the font printed on the outside was yours, the cursive font, all lowercase, all a thumb apart, yet still notoriously beautiful.

* * *

 _I'm on a boat, Fingers and Smurf are here. We play cards to pass the time, but Smurf gets seasick and turns green every five minutes. Must be his Welsh-ness. The other lads are taller and bigger and stockier and faster and older and tougher. The boiler room holds sixty or so of us, I'm bunking with this lad, Raab, no one knows his first name, he doesn't speak much, does Kingy. He screams in his sleep. I love you. Sleep well._

 _I'm in France now, the mud reaches my ankles, and we trudge through it for hours at an end and it fills my boots, and we can't wash them. We can't go to open water, Sergeant. Beck says the Nazis are poisoning the water, and we can't shower and we can't shave. I had a photo of you, of us, folded in my pocket, but now it's barely recognizable. I love you. Sleep well._

 _Smurf died last night, he went up and over with twelve of our boys. All twelve of them gone. Fingers doesn't have much to say to me, he just blinks and stares and walks and shoots and blinks. He's a shell of the person he once was. Tell my mum I love her. I love you always. Sleep well._

 _It's Tuesday, my birthday, I'm 27. I got two packs of cigarettes and a photograph of you. I'm the oldest lad on this part of boat and the rest of them are all new recruits from Cornwall or Wales. I'm still the tallest and I still have the broadest shoulders, and I can beat them all at arm wrestling after working with them older lads. Whenever I can't sleep, I trace the lines of your face. The smile you wore. The smile oh-so familiar but so far away it seems lifetimes ago. I think Raab got shot, or he shot himself. I love you. So much. Never forget that. Sleep well, my love._

 _It's been six months since I saw you last and I've forgotten your voice, I wish you'd write to me, but I know how you like being alone. Forever yours. I love you always. Sleep well, Molls._

* * *

I couldn't sleep, in one moment you'd be slumped upon a fence, stone cold, your lips blue and your eyes glazed over by the blood that drips from your temple; another you'd be so silent with your hands gripping your helmet, subconsciously rocking side to side; another you'd be screaming; another you'd be crying; another screaming; another silent; another rocking; another bleeding; another silent; another screaming. But the one image I couldn't shake from my memory was you telling me, 'I promise I'll come home.' before you signed your name on that scrap of paper, that scrap of paper that ended it, that scrap of paper I wished I could've torn into a hundred pieces, that scrap of paper that stole you.

Smurf's mum asked about the funeral the other day. She looks broken, and tired, I don't think she can sleep, she keeps seeing him slumped upon a fence, stone cold, his lips blue and his eyes glazed over by the blood that drips from his temple. They won't send you home and I can't make any plans.

I look broken. The mirror holds an empty figure, she's cold and stern, eyes fixed on something in the distance, curves grazed her winter bitten lips and creases had newly appeared under eyes. She's not Molly James, or Molly Dawes. She's a shell of the girl I once was. A shell of the girl you once loved.

* * *

Hello, everyone!

Long time, no post, and for that I'm immensely sorry. Life just took off and thus, my writing had to take a backseat. For that, I apologize profusely, but I hope this AU sense of Molly and Charles fulfills that. I'm not entirely sure if this fandom is still alive, but if it is, I hope this slightly makes up for my absence and Molly's absence recently. Please rate and review - I'll try and get back to every single one!

Love, M x


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Charlie;

When I arrived home, the cold set in. Truly frightening cold. My mind kept returning to the pure unease I felt upon seeing your train depart. In a flash, you were gone. More letters have arrived. Cursive font soft against the harsh, brown envelope. Our bump is steadily growing. The poignant reminder of you; the fact I'm carrying a small portion of you fills me with the upmost amounts of joy. Even if you're not here, I still cradle a piece of you every evening, before my dreamland is filled with your voice.

 _Gentle streaks of sunlight filter through the glass pane. With a satisfied sigh, I lean back into you. Your smell engulfing me wholly. "I love you," You whispered, plump lips pressed against my milky skin. I simply nod, relishing in your touch. Turning to face you, a large grin on my face, my arms instantly wrap around your shoulders - pulling you close. "I think you're gonna be a daddy, Charlie," I whispered into your navy clad chest, dark hair curtaining my face from your view. A squeal fell from my lips, laughing as you pulled me up to be face to face with you. Your face was a picture, joy evident on your beautiful face. "Really, Molls?" You rasped, over taken with pure emotion. All I could do was nod, our lips meeting in a wonderfully slow kiss._

I'd wake up in white, pressed sheets - no you to be seen. I wish you were laid next to me, our bump getting in the way. A sweat engulfing me, beads of sweat forming on my hairline. God, Charlie I miss you.

Mrs Brown, the lady in the bakery, asked about you today. All I could do was nod. There's nothing left but emptiness. You not being here leaves a void inside of me. If I could have one more breakfast, one last lunch and one last supper. Then, maybe, just maybe, I'd be okay. I'd get to see your beautiful, glistening eyes once more. The cheeky grin that lit up your entire face. God, I hope our child has your beautiful eyes, your breathtaking smile, your infectious laugh.

It hurts, Charlie. It hurts missing you every day. There's a hole in my heart that not even our baby can fill. Our baby girl. You're the best father a girl could want. Our girl, Charlotte Elizabeth James. Our girl misses her daddy. Please come home soon; in one piece.

All our love,

Molly and Lottie.

* * *

Dear Charlie;

I picked up your letters today, God I miss you. But, you're on your way home. You'll be leaving France and be soon back in my arms. You'll get to meet our girl, and we get to be a family again. My God, Charlie, I can't wait.

I'm on my way to the same platform that rolled you away. That took you out of our lives, but it'll soon bring you back to us.

See you soon,

Molly and Lottie

* * *

Today's the day. You're coming home today. You're coming back to me, back to us. I'm stood in the same spot I left you in. My feet firmly rooted to the spot, Lottie bundled up in my arms.

I picked you out of the crowd straight away, your broad shoulders standing taller than so many more of the men surrounding you. "Charlie!" I cried, pushing my way toward your weedy body. "Welcome home, daddy" I said, waving Lottie's hand towards you. That's when you kissed me, and I forgot all the nightmares, tears and sadness since you've been gone. Because most importantly, we were a family again.

* * *

 **Notes:**

This is something I wrote as a companion piece to 'You' whilst I was writing Lighthouses! I hope you enjoyed.

Love,

M.


End file.
